


Picky Eaters

by sxlstice



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Eating Disorders, Gay Mike Wheeler, Gay Will Byers, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homosexuality, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26080816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxlstice/pseuds/sxlstice
Summary: Mike and Will work at a Panera together. It sounds fairly simple, but things grow a little complicated when the boy who makes fun of Will for being a picky eater decides to start helping him instead. Things grow worse, however, when he shows up at Will's window with a suitcase and an apologetic smile.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Will Byers/Mike Wheeler
Comments: 19
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike always makes fun of Will, but today he takes it too far. He makes a strange deal with Will that makes him realize Mike may not be the complete asshole he thought he was.

"God, it's fucking pouring." 

"Yeah. No shit."

A scoff and a dry chuckle followed, nearly drowned out by the rain pelting against the black asphalt road. The entire world was cold, slabs of rain kissing the ground and sweeping away loose gravel and drenching car windshields. Mike's cigarette breath was the only warm thing about today, the ash gray clouds billowing from his lips in smooth and slow drags. 

"Why do you never eat here?" Mike's tone was bland, his fingers prodding at the hot beds of his cig curiously, flickering the remnants to the pavement. His body was reclined against the faded yellow bricks, and Will was glaring at the worn down seams of his sneakers. 

"I work here. Food gets a little old, doesn't it?" His voice remained eerily bland, dusted with light irritation. He was stooped on the curbside, eyeing all the cars that slunk away like slow bugs in the storm, his elbows pressed against his knees. 

Another cigarette bud flicked off into the wind, losing its heat immediately to the flecks of gray rain. "What's your favorite thing to eat here?" 

Will bowed his head into his legs, sighing in a warbled voice as he picked at his socks. Just something to play with as the anxiety crept back into his chest like a spider. "The mac and cheese is pretty good." 

Mike laughed all of a sudden, a thunderclap eclipsing the bellowed sound but still making Will squirm with annoyance. "It's frozen shit we cook in hot water." 

"I know, asshole," Will snapped, his thinning patience making every sound that trailed out of the Wheeler boy dig further into his scalp like a constant ringing. "I still like it."

"You're a picky eater." 

A silence followed, and Will watched as a mom pulled her suburban van out of the drive thru with a kid clawing into his food already in the passenger seat. The puddle that had formed around Will's sneakers began to drench his lengthy shoelaces, and he watched the water swirl against the rubber toe of his Converse. 

"We don't have to discuss it every single day, Mike." 

Another speck of cigarette ash. "I know. I just think it's funny." 

His words stung like a needle prodded into his arm, but Will ignored all of that and began thumbing a loose rock he found in the gravel. "It's not funny. It's actually something I'm really insecure about but you wouldn't care about that, would you?"

"Everyone's got insecurities, Will." Mike had started on another cigarette, his frosty hands temporarily brushed with heat as his lighter's flame clicked on. "Most of them are excuses. Excuses to hide from whatever they're afraid of instead of facing it." 

"What are you saying? Being a picky eater is an excuse?" Will's tone remained more icy with hostility than ever, spitting colder than the rain. 

"Sure. Why can't you just learn how to eat food?" 

Will leapt to his feet, his eyes slick with hatred and a concealed touch of hurt as he glowered at the taller boy. "Fuck you, Mike. Seriously," he hissed, storming back inside and leaving the glass door to slam violently against its frame. 

That was their routine everyday during lunch break. Mike would dine on cigarettes while Will ate nothing, sitting on the curb and watching cars pass like fading colors in a setting sky. He would stay there and listen to Mike berate him, the insults leeching into his skin and leaving a clean, permanent mark; until he crossed the line somewhere, and Will was left to march back inside angrily. 

It was their routine. 

Will didn't know why he agreed to sit out there everyday, sunshine or storm, and listen to him. Maybe he couldn't stand the image of Mike Wheeler standing out there by himself, his silence and sole company being the cigarette buds he played with so feverishly. Maybe he thought such an image looked entirely too incomplete. They were the only two employees with the same shifts and the same lunch break, after all.

The door chimed with its usual metallic urgency, and a familiar brunette stepped inside. Her hair had grown dampened by the relentless shower outside, sticking to the golden skin of her neck, but her eyes remained youthful and passionate. "Hey Will," El greeted, shuffling to the register with her sneakers squeaking on the tile.

"What are you doing here?" Will nodded to her half-soaked figure, rain droplets still dripping from the short locks. "Shouldn't you be with Max?"

A dark forecast clouded her face, and her chin dropped stiffly. "I was, but Neil came home early," she answered bleakly, and she didn't have to explain further. 

"Sorry," he murmured pathetically, his nails gripping the granite corners of the counter as the backdoor creaked open. He didn't even have to sneak a glance towards the boy with a mop of black curls to know he was staring fervently at Will. "Want your usual?" He continued towards El, already punching the order for a bread bowl into the register. 

"Yeah, thanks," she mumbled softly, but her eyes had snaked past him to the faded tiles behind the counter, where a raven-haired boy still pierced the back of Will's neck with a pensive look. "Who's that?" 

"Hey, Will."

"Ignore him," Will scoffed in an almost chastising manner, the burning in his limbs worsening. "Here's your cup," he watched her gratefully whisk away towards the drink machine with a stab of jealousy. Life on the other side of the counter always felt so much better, especially because it was without—

"Byers," Mike persisted, pushing himself off the wall and hobbling towards him in his usual scraggy state, the untied laces of his shoes fumbling around. "Hey." 

"You should really clean yourself up," Will commented sourly, noting the dirt that had accumulated on the white laces, turning them musky brown. "Steve's gonna fire you one day because of it. You know, if you don't start a fight with some old geezer first." 

The Byers hurried about the small entrapment, busying himself with cup holders that needed restocking or orders waiting to be bagged. Mike followed him limply, his lanky arms swinging like curvy branches against his thin frame. He hated how no matter what, the Wheeler stuck to him like glue the entire day. Even though they mutually disliked one another, the boredom of a day's work was apparently insufferable to him if he didn't piss off Will at least twice a shift. 

"Geezer," Mike buzzed his lips, a hum of a laugh bubbling in his throat. "Nobody says that, you know." 

"What? The way I eat wasn't good enough for you, now you wanna attack the way I talk?" He snapped back, ferociously keeping his gaze to the flurry of orders (actually there were only two; today was a slow day) he occupied himself with. 

"Hey," the Wheeler started, this time softer and absent of any taunting, but Will had stopped listening.

"El, it's ready," the brunet shuffled the hot plate into a brown bag, wishing it were him driving home with a smoked meal to enjoy. Even the drab walls of his house, the one that masked so much pain from the world, started to feel more appeasing than work. "Are we still on for tomorrow? American Honey?"

"Will." 

"Yeah, of course," El smiled with tightly pressed lips, perturbed by the static waves of tension brewing between the teenage boys. "I'll see you then."

"Will!"

A guttural sigh fell from Will's lips, and he dropped his head until the hairs on his neck cool feel the breeze from the AC vent he stood under. "Have fun with him," El commented drily, knowing he wouldn't, before rushing away to her car, where a much calmer storm stood. 

"Hey, geezer!" Mike called, the very sound of his voice shooting fireworks of rage in Will's system. 

"That's not how you use that term," Will growled, his teeth grinding together so hard it nearly hurt. "And what the hell do you want? I was with a customer." 

"You mean your girlfriend?" He asked in a slurred tone, a choked giggle making his freckles bounce. Will could barely look at them. 

"Gross. She's not my girlfriend. My mom is dating her dad—why am I even telling you this?" 

Mike had moved positions to the counter, his bottom perched on the edge as he watched his sneakers swing back and forth in the air like pendulums. "Hey, I'm sorry." 

Will stopped in his tracks, the steaming bowl of soup nearly spilling onto his black uniform and scorching his skin. "What?" He stumbled over the word, setting the plate down and furiously rubbing his fingers together to fight the burn they felt from the soup. 

"I'm sorry about earlier. I was kind of being an asshole." 

Apologies had never been apart of the routine before. Will smiled, but only vaguely and without the usual dimples that creased his cheeks. 

"Kind of?" 

"Okay, yeah, totally." 

Will set the cloth he had been using on his greasy hands down, unsure of what to do with himself. The Wheeler was bent over slightly, his shoulders stiff as his arms crossed over his legs and hung limply past his knees. He had amber eyes with flecks of gold, and they were staring intensely at Will. 

"Well, uh, thanks, I guess," his hands wiped the fabric of his pants. He was really unsure of what to do with himself. 

Mike's sneakers padded the floor with squeaked thuds as he hauled himself off the counter, a quick grunt leaving his lips. "Now you can tell me more about your hot friend-sister when you give me a ride after our shift."

The tension relapsed, and Will's teeth clamped together again like gears. So that's why Mike had apologized. Why he had, for once, seemed like a decent human being with feelings of regret and empathy. "Are you serious? I'm not giving you a ride!"

"Oh, come on!" Mike began with a whine, but he was cut off by the ringing of a door and an old lady prancing inside. 

"You're taking this one," Will huffed, using the friendly-faced stranger as his excuse to scurry past the taller boy into the dining area, scooping up dirty plates and bringing them to the back. By the time he returned, Mike had already dealt with the woman with his signature Mike-face, which consisted of a blank stare and an even blanker tone. Honestly, it was a miracle the boy had even been hired. 

"Will, I'm serious. I really need a ride."

"And why would I?" Will challenged, his cheekbones heating up in anger and impatience as he collected himself enough to toss a pointed glare at Mike. "You said it yourself, you're an asshole." 

"I walked here today, Will!"

"How is that my problem? You didn't bother to check the weather before you left?" 

Mike exhaled impatiently, his hands slapping the hem of his lazily untucked shirt. "So what? You're just gonna let me get hypothermia?" 

"You getting sick and not coming to work? Sounds like a vacation for me," Will spat, keeping his eyes low and to the rain that shielded the distant windows. 

"Come on," Mike's words were loud, and Will realized it was because the shaggy-headed boy has jumped onto the empty counter space right by Will's head. He was close enough to slap or shove hard enough he fell over to the other side, and Will considered both briefly with a stony look. "What's it gonna take for you to drive me home?" 

"Unless you agree to stop being a complete dickhead, then nothing," the Byers boy hissed, only now he had no choice but to glower at Mike as they conversed, he was so close. "No more rude comments about me being a picky eater."

"Yeah, I'm gonna have to pass," Mike answered through squinted eyes, and Will let out a frustrated groan. "Making fun of you is one of the best parts of my day." 

"Then no ride," Will fired back, folding his arms over his chest and meeting the fiery match of Mike's gaze. 

"What?"

"You said no to my offer, so the deal's off."

"Well how 'bout I offer you something better?"

Another scoff slipped out of Will. "Better than you not being an ass? I doubt it." 

"Let me cook for you." 

Will's words grew estranged in his mouth, tasting bitter and small on his tongue. He hadn't expected that, nor the way Mike was looking at him with his tilted head cradled slightly in his shoulder. "I—what?" 

"The biggest problem with picky eaters is that they don't try enough food, so they can't expand their palette," Mike explained, his tone surprisingly neutral despite the subject being discussed. "If you let me cook some stuff for you, maybe you can find new stuff you like." 

"You can cook?" Will asked in disbelief, raising a thick, furrowed brow. 

"Trust me," Mike coaxed him, and even more astonishingly, reached an arm out and coiled it around Will's shoulders, nearly pulling the shorter boy roughly into his torso. "You said you like the mac and cheese here. Have you tried lasagna?" 

Will, who had been previously squirming under the heavy touch of Mike's arm slung over him, froze as a tropical burn danced on his face. His cheeks lit up pink with shame, and he ducked his head down to glare at the electronic buttons of the register. "No." 

"Great! Then we'll start with that," Mike chirped, his arm falling away from Will's limp shoulders as he leapt off the counter. The ghost of the taller boy's arm and body gently pressed against Will's remained there, even as he turned to stare at the Wheeler with confused eyes. "What do you say?"

Mike certainly had never acted like this before. He must've really hated walking in the rain, because Will couldn't think of another reason why the freckled boy would try so hard to get a ride from him, even offering to help him with the very problem he bullied him for so heavily. Almost all of Will was screaming to decline, to keep his distance with Mike and keep the routine the same. 

But Will was also eighteen, and he was still being tossed between his divorced parents like a sandbag as he moved through senior year like molasses. And most important, Will was still a picky eater, something he'd intended to fix before college. His chances of doing so were draining away, and now the only option he had left was Mike Wheeler. 

"Fine." Will tried to ignore the stranger of a smile that illuminated Mike's face, a tingling stirring in the deep nest of his stomach. "Bring on the lasagna."

The last hour of Will and Mike's shift leeched away slowly, but quietly, and the quiet was welcomed but foreign. It was the most obedient and focused Will had ever seen Mike, who usually shoveled his load of work onto Will's pile and occupied himself with meaningless one-sided banter instead. 

"You're being weird," Will pointed out to Mike in the locker room, slipping his bag over his shoulder without his gaze sifting away from the other boy. "I have to be honest, it's kind of suspicious that you want to help me. Are you trying to give me food poisoning?" 

"Relax, geezer," Mike chuckled, carelessly tossing his work hat into his locker before slamming it shut. His hands nonchalantly found their way into the pockets of his coat as he threw another flashy smirk that made Will's insides squeamish. "If I wanted to poison you, I could've done it ages ago."

"Well, that's nice to know," Will grumbled, fishing around in his bag for his keys. 

"I just hate walking in the rain. Simple as that," Mike clapped a hand on Will's shoulder as he passed by him, leading the way to the carpark with an extra bounce in his nonsensical step. Will just wished Mike would learn personal space and stop touching him, another break in the routine. They never touched.

"Your music's pretty shit," Mike chided once they were huddled in Will's small Civic, the freckled teen fiddling with the radio. 

"Excuse me?" Will glowered, slapping the boy's hand away with an annoyed huff. "Driver picks the music. Besides, bold of you to harass me for my music when I'm the one giving you a ride." 

Mike's hands were frantically fanned out in front of him, and Will observed for (possibly) the first time that the Wheeler had no idea how to keep still. "Just hear me out. One song. And then I'll let you keep playing whatever shit indie stuff you like." 

"Bold," Will clicked his teeth together, shaking his head in faint disapproval as he handed his aux cord to the eager raven-haired teen. "Where do you live?" 

"Ah, you can take me to Palace Arcade," Mike answered casually, his head not rising from his phone to meet the annoyance that billowed Will's face like a cloud. 

"Are you serious?" His tone was slick again with irritation, and his body twisted almost violently to face Mike with his usual glare. "You mean to tell me I'm giving you a ride just so you can go play arcade games?"

"Relax," Mike groaned, the back of his head slamming against the passenger headrest. His eyes were wide with disturbance, and Will wanted to poke those perfect caramel-colored eyes out in that moment. "I've got a friend that works there. I'm hanging at his place after his shift." 

"Whatever," Will puffed air through his cheeks, swerving out of the flooded Panera parking lot with a continuous frown etched into his lips. A song that could only be described as a mixture of rock and R&B had begun to play softly from his speakers, and as much as he hated to admit it, he liked it. He didn't like, however, the way a proud smile had begun to dance lines into Mike's cheeks as he noticed Will tapping his fingers rhythmically on the steering wheel. 

"I knew you'd like it," he grinned, his leg now bent at the knee as he rested his foot on the edge of his seat. "You seemed like you'd be a Chase Atlantic fan." 

"Whatever," Will's chuckle came out dry and repressed as he leaned forward, slipping the aux out of Mike's unaware hands once the song ended. "Back to my shit indie stuff." 

"Damn it." 

~

The next day at work, Mike didn't relentlessly dig into Will's skin during their lunch break. It was an unspoken, rapid shift in the system they had crafted so rigidly, and Will wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He especially felt uncertainty creep into his stiff muscles as he sat in Mike Wheeler's kitchen that early evening, the winter sky already darkening at 5 pm and creating an arc of orange sunlight. "Where is everybody?" The Byers asked promptly, noticing the sickening absence of human life in the large, two-story home. 

"My parents took my younger sister Holly out for a movie," Mike replied in his usual calm, casual demeanor, his bottom leaning against the counter as he stared mistily at Will. "My older sister's up in Chicago for school and work. She's a journalist."

"Oh."

There was an undeniably awkward tension drifting between them, however. Mike didn't know what to do without constantly jabbing the smaller boy, and Will didn't know how to handle not having to keep his guard up for those insults. He was just waiting for all of this to crumble away, and it would be rotten cigarettes and sour words on the curb everyday again. 

The chiming of the oven saved them both, and Mike stooped over with mitts encumbering both of his hands. "Okay," he heaved a grunt, setting the glass dish in front of Will with a satisfied smile. "Your first expedition: lasagna." 

"Expedition?" Will repeated almost with a smile curved into his lips, glancing up at the freckled teen. "It's not an adventure."

"Might as well be, for you," Mike fired back, but he was flashing another grin and he looked like an entirely different boy. 

"Right. So...since when did you learn how to cook?" Will asked curiously, training his eyes on the knife Mike drove into the dish. 

"You pick up a few things," he answered lamely, but Will had learned to start taking such vague replies from the boy without pressing further. "Alright, geezer," Mike's fingertips slid a small plate in front of him, and the nerves began to resurface. "Eat up."

Will poked the food with the tendrils of his fork for a small moment, hesitation gripping at his veins as he glared down at the unfamiliar dish. He could feel Mike's eyes on him, their sunny flecks of light waiting with a striking patience, contrasting the way they used to glare at him at work. "Uh, okay," he mumbled, scooping a tiny but efficient amount onto the utensil. "Nothing to it." 

He was surprised by the flavor that danced on his tongue, the texture that brushed his taste buds and, oddly enough, didn't bother him too badly. His fork went in for another mouthful, shoveling the bite with less fear and more consideration. Though tension still racked his muscles from the uncomfortable feeling of trying new food, he gave an approving nod. 

"You like it?" Mike sat back against the cabinets, eyeing the brunet with caution as he continued to chew. 

"Why does it taste like pizza?" His question roused a laugh from the taller boy, who kicked himself off the wall and shuffled across the cold tiled floor briefly. 

"See? It's not that bad!"

"Oh wait," Will grimaced, his tongue breeching something he discovered he didn't like. At all. The texture made his mouth swell with unease, and he forced the bite down his drying throat before reaching desperately for his glass of water. "Ugh, I didn't like that."

"Didn't like what?" Mike rushed back to the counter, his fingertips curling around the surface's edge with apprehension. 

"What's this white stuff?" Will winced, prodding the lighter specks of food wedged into the layered meal. 

"Oh, cottage cheese!"

"Yeah, it's disgusting," the Byers shuddered, setting his fork down, unable to meet Mike's expression, whatever it may be. He still was unsure why he had agreed to this exchange in the first place, given it was just another way for Will to embarrass himself. "Ruins the entire lasagna, really." 

"Yeah, my sister doesn't like it either. It's not totally uncommon," Mike slapped a damp wash cloth atop the marble counter. "On the bright side, you like lasagna! Just no cottage cheese." 

"I guess so," Will nodded, still stiff from the new tastes exploding in his mouth, even if he liked them. "It's gonna take some getting used to, though." 

"Yeah, adding new foods to your palette is tricky. Requires some time," Mike agreed, making Will's head snap up in bewilderment. 

"How did you know that?" His eyes were narrowed into two interrogative slits, curiosity lining his features. 

Mike's shoulders sagged in a careless shrug. "Just making an assumption." Will averted his gaze back to the white chef hat that balanced on the Wheeler's black curls. He had insisted he wear the hat, and even though Will knew he had done it as a joke, he couldn't help but think about where Mike's cooking skills had developed.

"I need a smoke," Mike's proposition sliced the thoughts racing in his head, and he tossed a casual glance over his shoulder at Will. "Wanna join? Or are you gonna pig out?"

"Wh—Aren't you gonna eat some?" 

"Oh no," Mike shook his head vigorously, then added, "I'll eat later. Come on, geezer," his pale hands were already wrapping around the carton of cigs on the counter.

The two boys gathered on the back porch of the Wheeler house, which was strikingly small in contrast to the booming walls and grand furniture that donned the mansion. October was nearing towards November, and the evening air had grown more bitter with cold every day, the summer rains gone. Will wrapped his long-sleeved arms around his torso as he cast another look at Mike. 

The raven-haired boy was sitting on the edge of a plastic porch chair, resting his elbows on his jittering knees as small gray puffs of smoke left his chapped lips. He always looked so serious, and much older, when he smoked. Not only did his expression always seem to assume its own shadow, but Mike's smoke breaks were the only time Will had ever seen the boy grow so still. He wasn't sure why or when he had noticed this about the taller teen. 

"Why are you doing this?" Will's voice cracked through the tight, evening winds. He watched the way Mike's legs bounced unevenly as he considered his answer, and the stretching time between his question and a response made him think the freckled boy was going to be more honest this time. "I mean, you have a car you can drive to work, and it was clearly going to rain. It's not like you did this for that ride yesterday. I thought you hated my guts."

Four weeks of knowing Mike Wheeler, and for the first time, he wasn't hurting Will. Even just by slightly poking at the things that made his insecurities dance, Mike had been a tick to Will. A pest that buzzed in his ears and made the hairs on his neck stand with the promise of goosebumps. But now, Mike seemed like he was becoming a friend. Or at least, a friendly acquaintance that gave him lasagna rather than unkind words about the way he ate. 

"I never hated you," he admitted with a dry sigh, and he flicked the first speck of cigarette ash into the grass. 

The confession had been enough to send Will into stunned silence, and he could only hug his shivering body tighter as he waited and listened. 

"I had never met someone like you. A picky eater, I mean. I didn't really understand it," Mike continued, his words dropping off and restarting with uncertainty, almost as though he didn't like the words coming out of his mouth. Probably because they were too embarrassing, Mike wasn't a stickler for sentiment. "I just kept thinking, 'Why can't the little dipshit learn to eat food?'. I didn't realize until the way you snapped at me yesterday that it's not easy. And I guess I just...felt bad. For my ignorance." 

Will nodded, relaxing his head against the brick wall behind him. It didn't explain enough, feeling almost incomplete as Mike discarded more cigarette ash. But it was the most sincere the Wheeler had been to him in the entire month they'd worked together, and he decided it was enough for now.

"I'm sorry, Byers. Really." The apology was dusted with the same softness as yesterday's, and yet it felt more genuine. 

Will was smiling under the dimness of Mike's porch, and he didn't notice the dimples that had begun to surface his cheeks. "Thanks." 

Mike's cigarette breath suddenly wasn't the only warm thing about tonight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> El and Max don’t approve of Mike. Mike cooks egg tacos for Will at Dustin’s, and the two boys meet. However, things take a turn for the worst.

El's room was illuminated by the sprinkling of fairy lights along her wall, the record player softly blaring 80s hits that completed the comforting atmosphere. Will was sandwiched between El and Max's warm bodies, both girls pining at him with confused gazes.

"He sounds infuriating," Max concluded, pushing herself into a seated position with a dragged sigh. The redhead's face was sketched with suspicion and annoyance, tossing another look at Will. "What kind of dick treats you like garbage for so long and then suddenly asks to cook for you?" 

Will shrugged limply, pushing himself further into El's comforter. "He said he wanted to help me."

The Mayfield's lips parted as another scoff fell out, completely deflated. "Seems like a load of bullshit to me." 

"He made you lasagna?" El spoke up, craning her head towards him in a quieter, more curious manner. 

"Yeah, and I actually liked it," Will replied, not wanting to check to see if the irritation painting constellations on Max's freckles had worsened. "He's a good cook." 

"He's still an asshole," Max persisted, ignoring the way Will seemed to be fiddling with the blanket swamped over his legs in an absent-minded manner. 

"He did kind of seem like a dick," El agreed with her girlfriend, her expression more apologetic as she recalled the way the Wheeler had swarmed Will yesterday like a net of bees with sharp stingers pricking his skin. 

Will shrugged again, knowing they were right but a glimmer of hope lined his heart like a gentle touch. "Yeah, he's confusing. But hey, at least he apologized," the Byers reclined his head back, his chin jutted out and up as he glared at the string of lights above him. If he pretended hard enough, those lights could be stars and he could be floating amongst them, unaware of all the tension and worry that wrapped his real world. "Besides, if he really means it, maybe we could become friends. I can't just keep hanging out with you guys." 

"Come on, we're not that bad," Max teased with a dusted smile on her lips. The mellow song on the record player had changed in favor of a faster, light-hearted tune that made both girls kick themselves up onto their feet. "In fact, we're not bad at all. Get on your feet, Byers. You're dancing." 

Somewhere downstairs, Jim Hopper was probably sighing between puffs of his cigarette, listening to the rapid beats of music and the three pairs of feet pounding the carpeted floor above him. The idea made Will think of cigarettes, and cigarettes made Will think of Mike, and Will was still incredibly puzzled by it all. 

Mike Wheeler was going to take some getting used to. 

~

"Uh, where are we?" The house Will's car parked in front of wasn't the same clean cut, two-story building that belonged to the Wheelers. This one was much more quaint, a one story home with a large porch that allowed for bikes to be tumbled against brick and cars to snuggle underneath a dry ceiling. 

Mike had been rubbing his chin quietly, a strange movement he did often, zoned out of conversation and his surroundings. "Hm? Oh!" His brown eyes sparked with realization, and the grin was back on his face. The one that still made Will question himself and the other boy terribly, wondering why they were in this situation and if he wasn't just wavering about in some hazy dream. "This is my friend Dustin's house. You know, the one that works at Palace? He said we could use his place to cook." 

"What?" Will questioned with narrow eyes, but the boy was already wobbling out of the car in his baggy attire and (as per usual) untied laces. He clambered out of the vehicle as well, pawing the open door to steady himself. "Why are we using his house?" 

Mike's shoulders rose and fell in a quick heap, fishing in his oversized jeans for something, presumably a pair of keys. "His shift ends soon and I was planning on hanging out with him anyway. Besides, you get to meet one of my best friends."

"Wow, lucky me," Will huffed under his breath, his sneakers crunching against the paved driveway as he followed Mike to the front door. If he was unlucky, and he almost always was, this Dustin character would probably be the same as Mike: loud, outspoken, and rude in a way that just nicked the surface of your tendons. And yet all of that concealed by the flashy, cocky exterior that seemed to shine extremely bright these last two days. 

"You'll like the guy," Mike assured him, fiddling with the knob as he wedged a small silver key into it crassly. "He's cool." 

Dustin's house had more light to it than Mike's, the smaller space and larger windows making it glow without the unwelcome corners of darkness that hid all around them at the Wheeler’s. Mike pranced about the place like he owned it, his hands flying to cabinets and scooping out any dishes he would needed.

"So," Will settled on one of the kitchen stools with a small uncertainty, feeling like a trespasser despite Mike's collected behavior. "What's on the menu today, Chef?" 

"No need for the fancy names," Mike chided in a mocking manner, his teeth clicking together as he glanced at Will with another light, airy look that Will wasn't sure if he liked or not. "But today's all about egg tacos, a Mike Wheeler classic." 

"You're kidding," Will grimaced, his nerves already stirring like a swelter of raked leaves in his stomach. "What's even in that?" 

"It's eggs, guac, tomato, and cheese on a tortilla. Not too bad," Mike sounded bright as he spoke, continuing to fly across the kitchen space like an unpredictable flurry. 

A scoff escaped Will's lips before he could tell it to stop, ignoring the way his insides began to burn and ache. "Yeah, right. I don't even think I like guac or tomatoes."

"Nonsense, geezer! After you try this, you'll be an avocado fanatic!" Mike cheered, waving the large knife that gleamed in his hands like a baton, only worsening the fractured buzzing in Will. 

"Yeah, don't get your hopes up. It's not like I'm suddenly gonna start eating avocado toast everyday for breakfast."

"Whatever. Just come help me chop tomatoes. I don't want a lazy ass in my kitchen," Mike commented in his usual joker like stance. He felt like a completely different boy than the one that chain smoked cigs outside Panera everyday, or the the one that threw back-handed comments at him. It still felt like an outlandish facade to Will as he rose from his seat, curving around the soapstone counter to join the taller teen. He just kept wondering how long it would last. 

"So, uh, what are you into? You know, besides hating food and working at a restaurant," Mike snickered, his eyes unwavering from the avocado he cradled in his hand, peeling away at the dark colored material. 

"Ah, there's that classic Mike humor," Will quipped with a tight smile that stung a little on the edges. "But I draw. A lot. Gonna go to school for it." 

"Oh, really? Where are you thinking about going?" 

He shrugged lamely, not wanting to watch the way Mike's eyes kept floundering from his work to the smaller boy. "I dunno, actually. My brother's up at NYU, but I'm not sure where I wanna go. I just know I want it to be somewhere far from here." 

Mike just nodded, continuing to prick at the avocado skin as silence fluttered between the two again, and Will figured he should return the favor. "What about you?" His insides stung a little with the unusualness of their talk, normally lined with sour insults and jabs, rather than light-hearted small talk that would eventually (possibly?) cave into comfortable conversation. 

"No idea, really," he answered simply, moving on to a large bowl where he began to mash the peeled avocado. "I was thinking about going into writing, but, I don't know. I feel you, though, on that whole..."far away from here" thing. I have no plans to stay in Hawkins." 

Will peered up from his tomato slicing, the small buds of red sitting patiently on the chopping board as he studied Mike. He looked refreshingly calm, not in the quiet, toxic sort of way he normally did at work, like he was waiting for some excuse to explode on Will and grip at his insecurities again. Instead, he looked at peace with himself, his gaze content to stay on the dish he worked at with a good pace. His hands that were usually so quick and untamed were now more reserved. 

"How about cooking?"

"Huh? What? Cooking?" Mike briefly looked at him, but his dark eyes tore away almost instantly when he saw Will was already staring at him. It was almost like he didn't want to be the one observed, refraining to the shadows where he sat and waited to examine someone else instead. 

"Yeah!" Will piped up, wondering if he said something wrong or stupid as the unfamiliar rose tint dusted his cheeks. He wasn't a stranger to embarrassing himself so easily, but around Mike they had never had the type of talk to where he could slip up and humiliate himself like this. "I mean, you're pretty good at it, you seem to like it, why not?" 

Mike chuckled through dry, cracked lips, to which he swiped his tongue over a few times before replying. His words were coated in faint bitterness, and Will felt a sharp sting as he inquired if it had been him to cause the abrupt mood or not. “Learning to cook was not something I signed up for."

"W-What does that mean?" Will gave it enough time before he asked, probably enough so that the kicked up dust from Mike scuttling around in the pots and pans drawer settled down again. 

The front door swung open in a grand, boisterous gesture, shattering any chances of Will getting his answer as a boy that matched Mike's same humorous glow entered. Dustin, presumably, stalked into the kitchen with a head of unkempt curls and a toothy grin. He still wore his lavender Palace Arcade uniform shirt, but a hat had been scrunched atop the stiff mop of curls more wild than Mike's incomparable waves. "Hey guys!”

The curly-haired teen stalked into the kitchen in a relaxed manner, almost as though there wasn't a stranger in his home and his friend wasn't stealing food out of his kitchen to cook for said stranger. Will almost let out a straggled gasp as the two boys collided in a short, boyish hug, almost not recovering in enough time as Dustin's robin blue eyes skittered over to Will's meek figure. "Hey, man! I'm Dustin. Pleasure to meet you," he stuck out a warm, dry hand that Will took with burnt cheeks and a timid smile.

"Will." It felt worse now, knowing a complete stranger would watch Will force himself to eat something he knew he probably wouldn't like. Even with yesterday's success, his nerves still ached. 

"So, I heard Mike's been giving you a hard time," Dustin cocked a smile, coiling his arm roughly around the pads of Mike's shoulders. 

"It's nothing he can't handle," Mike let out a puff of air between his cheeks, raising an amused eyebrow at Will that the Byers didn't quite catch, instead burning holes in the floor as his anxiety worsened. 

"C'mon, let the guy speak for himself," Dustin quipped, plopping onto the counter in a similar fashion that Mike always does, tossing his crumpled hat into his lap to run a hand through his mangled curls. "If it makes you feel any better, egg tacos are absolutely disgusting, in my opinion."

"Well then, I'm so relieved," Will commented with a twinkle of amusement, slipping back into the stool he had occupied.

Dustin sent him another crooked smile, and the Byers could tell he already warming up to the curly-haired boy in a way that hadn't occurred with Mike's original standoffish asshole behavior. The Henderson boy was light and kind, the curves of his lips providing comfort rather than a uneasy mystery waiting to be explored. "He's funny. I like him."

"Whatever. Go change, you smell like Keith's stale cheetos," Mike scrunched his nose up at his friend, batting the rag he'd been cradling between his fingers at him, ushering him out of the room. 

"He seems cool," Will mumbled, nodding his head towards the empty hallway Dustin had just disappeared into. 

"Yeah. Lucas isn't as crazy, though. You two will probably hit it off when you meet."

"Wow, you've got more than one friend?" Will taunted, and it was his turn to raise an eyebrow mockingly, a light smile deceiving his face. 

"Ha ha, very funny," Mike shook his head, but his own lips were smiling as he drew his attention back to the eggs on the stove. Will watched the boy's posture weaken, his shoulder slumping further into themselves and his back curving as he hobbled over the counter a little. He couldn't see Mike's face, but he figured the freckled boy was slowly fading into his estranged thoughts, those thoughts that Will found himself wanting to uncover, for whatever reason. 

"Hey, Will?" 

"Yeah?" Will was already looking at him when he turned, and he was surprised to find a somewhat pained look etched into the sprinkles of brown on his face. "W...What's up?"

"I just," his lips pressed together so tightly the pinkness temporarily faded away, until he let out a heavy sigh. "I'm really sorry for the way I've been treating you. I don't want you to think I'm some asshole." 

But you have been. So why? 

Will let go of his release on Mike's gaze, instead glaring at his nails as they made nervous indents on his palms, rubbing at the dry skin. Mike was hiding something, surely. The reason he had given Will last night, wrapped up under the shade of his cement porch and evening sky, had not been enough to explain why he had been so cruel. If he wasn't the asshole Will believed him to be, the very image he was now fighting tooth and nail to remove from the Byers's mind, there had to be something else. Some other explanation as to why the Wheeler had dug into him so ferociously. 

But Will didn't address any of that, he just let out a heavy breath he'd been keeping in, and he nodded. "Okay." 

"Okay?" 

He sounds infuriating, Max's voice rang clear in the cavern of thoughts piled into Will's brain. He pushed the reminder away, meeting the golden rays of Mike's gaze instead. Infuriating, maybe. Intriguing, definitely. "Yeah," Will answered finally, swallowing a lump of bile. "Thanks." 

"Okay," Dustin waddled back into the room, adjusting the wrinkled cuffs on his new shirt without looking up to see the two boys who flinched for an unknown (totally known) reason. "How are those nasty tacos coming along?"

"They are not nasty," Mike replied defensively, and any sign of his previous, sincere apology fell away like water slithering down a drain. "I told you, it's a Wheeler classic!"

"Well, Will can be the judge of that," Dustin crooned, and Will was too busy meeting the humorous shine of the curly-headed boy's gaze to notice the plate being slid in front of him.

"Bon appétit," Mike cheered.

Will could only stare at the plate, his fingers shaking in his lap as he contemplated conjuring some poor excuse to not eat. Dustin and Mike were both watching him intently, the only sound being their slow, subtle breaths. The Byers's visioned tunneled in on the plate, his quivering hands eventually making their way to the taco. His eyes flew back up to Mike, and he saw an unusual flash of something (sympathy? pity?) beneath the flecks of honey and oak. The look gave him the strength to sink his teeth into the meal, tasting a little bit of everything: the crunch of the shell, the guac smothered atop the eggs seasoned with pepper and littered with small tomatoes. There were cheese bits and even cilantro dancing on his tongue, an explosion of different tastes and textures settling into his mouth. 

And Will didn't like it. At all. 

Dustin noticed it first, the way Will's throat clammed up and his hooded eyes began to thrum with panic. The Henderson clambered out of his seat, sashaying to the fridge and grabbing a cold can of soda, offering it up to the uncomfortable boy. "Here."

"Thanks," Will coughed, the can opening with a fizzy snap before he was drowning the contents of the taste in spouts of caffeinated sugar. 

"You don't like it?" Mike frowned, and there was a tingling in Will's chest that turned painful. He hated disappointing Mike, and he had no idea why. Two days ago he would've stormed out of the room without even attempting a bite, but now he was actually ashamed he couldn't enjoy the food. 

"I'm sorry," Will murmured in tepid embarrassment, dipping his head as he continued to wash away the unpleasant taste with his drink. "I think it was the guac and tomatoes." 

"I told you!" Dustin let out a single note of a laugh, snapping his fingers together almost in...triumph? "I knew those tacos weren't that good." 

"Relax, Dustin. Will's a picky eater, he's not going to like a lot of normal foods," Mike commented bitterly, trying to hush the unbearably positive mentality gushing from the Henderson. Instead, the wounds only deepened as Will stiffened at the Wheeler's words, a new but also familiar ache wavering over his heart like a heavy hand. Mike must've realized his mistake, because he was gazing apologetically at the shorter boy again. "Will, I—"

"You know what, this was a really bad idea," Will rose to his feet, hating but ignoring the way Dustin eyed him in confusion. "I told you it wasn't going to work, Mike, I just...I should go." He wiped the moisture off his lips with a napkin before hastily excusing himself, aiming for the door. 

"Will, wait!"

The Byers didn't stop until he was outside in the slight frost of the evening air, away from the choking attention behind the walls of Dustin's house. Mike scurried after him, the screen door giving a loud whack against its frame. Mike had said the wrong thing, and Will was storming off again, only now Mike was chasing after him. "Will, please!"

"So this was your plan all along, huh?" Will snapped, lowering his fists into his coat pockets before he began making wild gesticulations at the other boy. "Make me believe you actually felt sorry? All to just, what, trick me into coming here and embarrass me? Look, I know you hate me, but this was sick! My problem isn't just some joke you can use to laugh about with your friends."

"Will! I don't hate you. I-I wasn't..."

"Admit it, Mike! You're just a fucking asshole!" Will was almost screaming at this point, his voice hoarse against the dry cold wind whooping against his skin. "God, I should've listened to my friends. It was too good to be true, you know. That after an entire month of you being a complete and total shithead, you'd suddenly flip and be nice to me? What, even a friend to me?"

"Will, listen to me—"

"Forget it, Mike. I am a picky eater. Yeah, I don't like most foods, and it's definitely weird compared to the majority. But you can't change a picky eater's habits. You knew that, and I did too. You used me, you had your fun, we're done," he snapped, wedging himself into the dank heat of his car without listening to any more broken words tumble out of the Wheeler's pathetic mouth. 

Mike didn't fight it either, deciding to let Will's car slink away in a fit of humiliation and rage. His chest was racked with guilt, and for a moment he wished the red taillights of the Byers's car would just blind him and send him shooting into darkness. Nothing Will had said to him so aggressively had been true, but he had no idea how to prove that to him. Mike had bullied Will endlessly for a month, he should've known it would've taken a lot more than a few home-cooked meals to make up for that kind of terrible mistreatment. 

"What the hell have you been saying to him?" Dustin came up behind Mike's rear, startling him a little. The two watched the faint lights of Will's car dance in the gaps between the brush before they were gone altogether, and Will was gone too, probably hating Mike more than he had ever before. 

"Nothing good," the Wheeler admitted with a furious layer of self-hatred written into his skin. His hand reached up and gripped the opposite arm, fingers snaking around the gaunt pole of his forearm in a mingle of sadness and regret. "I fucked up." 

"Well, maybe you should tell him the truth." 

Mike's head was shaking before Dustin could even conclude his suggestion, the mistiness not draining from his expression. "Not yet." 

At work the next day, a miserable Monday that loomed with threateningly dark clouds, Will sat by himself on the curb for a long while. Mike watched him through the window from the inside, doubt gripping at his heart like iron talons, questions whispering diseased ideas into his mind. He finally sucked in a breath of feign confidence, nearly trampling over his untied shoes as he joined Will outside. 

The Byers felt his upper lip twitch with disgust when he heard the lighter click on, watching the light make small shadows dance on the concrete. He said nothing, keeping his arms loose and flaccid on top of his knees. 

"Can we talk about it, Will?" Mike pleaded, and the desperation lining his tone made the shorter brunet stiffen with disgust and discomfort. He knew the Wheeler was looking at him through that same stupid screen of dark curls, donned in his baggy pants that made him look like a clown. But Will felt like the fool, really, misled into thinking he could actually fix a problem that had been plaguing him since he was a baby. 

"You've done enough," Will murmured, and his voice was quiet but still carried more iciness than the deepening cold falling over Hawkins as autumn consumed the town. 

Mike was still taking small drags from his cig, but he barely paid mind to the flecks of ash trailing from his bent fingertips. "You shouldn't give up on yourself, Will. You liked the lasagna! That's progress! You can't expect yourself to suddenly like everything you eat. You just gotta keep trying stuff." 

"Just forget it, Mike."

"And I swear I did not mean to embarrass you or make you think it was all a trick. I was having fun helping you! And I really, really just wanted to do that. Help you. I know it must not be easy, and—" Mike was rambling now, and the irritation exploded into anger as Will's pent up emotions made him leap to his feet.

"I said forget it, Mike! Fuck off!" His shoes scudded on the pavement as he advanced towards the Wheeler, his angered expression inches away before he stopped. His tone was low and carried so much rage, Mike didn't even think it was possible for a boy so small and so pretty to be that furious. "We may be co-workers, but I'm never going to be your friend." 

And Will was barreling back inside, slamming the glass door and letting it make its familiar loud clang. Mike stayed outside, paralyzed with shock and a stab of hurt beneath his rib cage. Will had raced back inside, and Mike didn't run after him either. Everything was back to normal, with Will hating Mike and well, Mike hating Mike. And the Wheeler honestly just despised that this was the normal for them. But first impressions were everything, and he had fucked up majorly at that.

Despite how much it made his heart shrink seeing Will that upset with him, he felt like it was beyond change now. He had learned his lesson the hardest way possible.

Some routines just weren't meant to be broken.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike doesn’t show up to work. Dustin talks to Will and Lonnie is an asshole as always. Will struggles with a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: domestic violence, homophobic language

An entire week had elapsed by slowly and not so sweetly, the days mixing together like gray paste with no flavor at all. To make matters worse, the routine hadn't repaired itself, as Will expected it to the day after he had snapped so crassly at Mike. But the boy with freckles had become blue, and terribly bleak. He went to his car to smoke instead, and Will stopped sitting out on the curb with empty, balled fists and started reclining in his own car with a bagged dinner (or lunch if it was a weekend shift).

He could've driven to the burger joint across the street so easily in those thirty minutes of a break, maybe picking at a small tub of fries or ordering a plain cheeseburger. (Mike surely would've pestered him about that, arguing on and on about how a burger needs more than a patty and a slice of American cheese.) But he never left the small carpark of the Panera, in fact he knew exactly what he was doing by parking his Civic within eyesight of Mike's older, more beat up Beetle.

Not only had the curb been eradicated from their routine, but talking had been wiped clean off the board as well. Will suspected something was awry when he stepped inside that first day of the strange shift, watching Mike's eyes pointedly meet every part of the restaurant but where he stood. He could tell it took an awful lot of concentration from the taller boy to keep his eyes away, but he put in the effort, and it was louder than anything he could've said to Will anyway.

It was intriguing, almost incredible, to see Mike Wheeler become so pale and so quiet. He barely murmured anything to the Byers, save for work formalities. The mens' bathroom needs more paper towels. There's a dirty stack of plates in the dining area. Steve needs you at the window.

It was the seventh day of Mike's silence, and Will realized with a shaky sigh that it had started to hurt. He hated to admit it, because he was still fairly upset with the raven-haired teen, still feeling mocked and betrayed. But he knew he was beginning to feel an...emptiness.

Apparently the emptiness had spread beyond Will's feelings, because Mike didn't show to work that day. At first he assumed the sporadic, unpredictable boy was just late, but an hour of wondering ate away and he knew he wasn't coming. Steve sealed the deal thirty minutes later when Will gained the willpower to ask.

"Yeah, Wheeler wasn't feeling too great," he answered absently, concerned with a swarm of papers in his hands rather than Will's useless pondering.

"Oh."

_Oh._

Will sat in his car for lunch, a Chase Atlantic song occupying the speakers of his radio. The tin foil of his sandwich crunched underneath his curled fingers, a frown tripping onto his lips. He wasn't listening to them because of Mike. God no, he actually just liked their music. That's all.

Another vehicle swerved dramatically into the lot, and Will swore his heart thumped with hope until he realized it wasn't the chipped, dark blue paint of a Volkswagen. A man with maddening curls possessed it, shuffling messily into the parking space a few over from Will. The Byers didn't realize until his figure was slinking towards his car like a bug that it was Dustin Henderson, only his face held a lack of any flashy grin.

The Henderson rapped his knuckles, which still had some golden tan left from the warmer months, against the door. Will let out a bitter exhale through his nostrils, because he knew exactly what this was about. Nonetheless, his fingertips pressed the unlock button, letting the slightly taller boy slip inside with a small groan.

"Hey Byers," he greeted in a much huskier, relaxed voice than he had when they first met. He lifted his rump slightly to fish something out of his back pockets, showing the other brunet a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind?"

Will almost laughed seeing the pack of Marlboros, the same kind Mike used. "Guess not," he tried to hide his tightly wedged smile as he rolled down the passenger window. "You don't seem like the kind of guy to smoke. No offense."

"Only when I'm stressed," Dustin answered, flapping his hand as he waved a puff of gray smoke away from his face.

"What's stressing you?" Will asked, but it was a useless question and it fell out of his lips that way. There was only one reason Dustin would be here, smoking in his passenger seat with a bland frown. He sat in a much calmer, stilled manner than Mike, lacking the constant fidgeting and fumbling the Wheeler boy was infamous for.

"Listen, Will," Dustin began in a certain tone that made the shorter boy's stomach tighten, the half-eaten sandwich in his lap forgotten. "I don't know what all Mike has said to you in these last few weeks, but I'm sure they weren't very nice."

"No, not at all," Will agreed, his hands smoothing over the leather pattern of his steering wheel. "What's your point?"

"Look, when it comes to Mike there's...a lot...to be unpacked."

A gust of wind came through, making Dustin's smoke whizz towards Will and cause him to heave a few throaty coughs before rolling his own window down. "God," he grunted, slapping a fist against his chest loud enough to hear the thump. "Yeah, I figured he's got some layers. Considering he can be a complete douche one day and decent the next."

"Yeah, about that," Dustin flicked ash caught between his fingers towards the pavement outside, and Will wondered why. Did all smokers do that? Was it just a Mike thing that Dustin picked up? Or did Mike learn it from Dustin? It was irrelevant, especially after the proposal that trampled out of the curly-headed teen. "I think you need to give him another chance."

"What? Are you serious?" The anger resurfaced, his eyes glinting against the small flame captured in Dustin's cigarette.

"I know, I know! Mike's pretty shit when it comes to making friends. He's lucky he's even got me and Lucas. Steve, too, I guess..."

"Wait, Steve?" Will narrowed his eyes, the skin between his brows pinching in confusion. "Steve's just our boss."

"Steve's my friend, actually," Dustin explained. "We started hanging out when I was still in middle school, and that's how he knows Mike."

"And I guess that's how Mike got the job, too?" Will assumed, almost wanting to shake his head in disbelief. No wonder Mike could make a million mistakes at work and Steve never batted an eye, the concept of firing the dark-haired teen foreign in his mind.

"He needs the money, bad." Before Will could demand why, the Henderson teen was shifting back to his previous subject. "Anyway, as I was saying, Mike's terrible at making friends, even if he is a pretty outgoing guy. He has a lot of...self-destructive behaviors, I guess."

"Why?"

Dustin struggled, the skin around the corners of his lips creasing. "I can't tell you that. But I'm sure he will, if you just give him a chance. Just know that...Mike's gone through some pretty bad stuff. He's handling a lot of shit right now and—"

"You don't think I'm handling some shit of my own right now?" Will cut in defiantly, placing two sharp fingers against his own chest, pinching the fabric. All he could think about was his father. "I never used it as an excuse to be a complete dick."

"You're right," Dustin admitted with a sigh. "And I'm not saying you haven't. I could kinda tell you've been fighting some sort of battle."

"What?"

"After knowing Mike so long," he hesitated again, broken fragments of syllables falling out. He was fighting his words, and Will could see he was struggling to not say too much. "After knowing him for so long, it gets easier to see if a person has experienced real pain, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess," Will breathed quietly, becoming more stunned by Dustin's words. Sure, Mike seemed like a mystery, but he always imagined it to be more like "I steal comic books from the store" type of secrets rather than something painful. Something he kept hidden in himself, wrapped around his heart like iron chains.

"I just think that you two could really use each other," Dustin explained, holding out a hand before Will could interject again. "You've both experienced real pain, and people like that bond better. Even seek comfort in one another. It's hard for Mike because, well, Lucas and I don't always know what he goes through."

"And what makes you think I would? You don't even know me," Will reminded him rather coldly, ignoring the iciness of his tone.

"Fair enough. But I still think it's worth a shot. And if Mike hurts you again, like _really_ hurts you, then you have my permission to let him go. Just run for the hills and forget all about him. But please, just give him another chance," he begged, then quietly, almost more to himself than to Will, "I've never seen him try so hard to get someone to like him."

"Really? Are you sure he doesn't cook disgusting egg tacos for every friend he makes?"

Dustin laughed at that, his open mouth blowing more clouds of ashy smoke. "Mike hates cooking. It took him months before he even _told_ us he could, and it took a lot of convincing to get him to make us breakfast."

"Well if he hates cooking so much, why is he so good at it?" Will inquired, his chest burning with curiosity, even though he could see by the sag in the other boy's shoulders that he wasn't going to get his answer.

He tried another question. "Where is Mike anyway? Is he really sick?"

The boy held his opal blue gaze on Will for a momentary pause. "One more chance, Will. Just think about it," he sighed, tossing the cigarette out the window before following it hastily, squishing it with his shoe. "I'll see you around. Hopefully."

_Hopefully._

~

Will's fingers skittered along his steering wheel anxiously, glaring at the car parked in front of his trashy home.

His father's car.

His nerves swirled uneasily in his belly as slipped out into the cooling fall air, leaves brushing against his shoes like critters. Bile stung the sides of his throat as he swallowed apprehensively, his clammy hands clenching into tightly wound fists.

Lonnie Byers smelled of cheap beer and cigarettes, his slumped figure reclined on the couch with soft noises trailing from his lips. The ash tray on the coffee table was piled with grains of sickly dark powder, and Will had to turn away to hide the way his nose crinkled at the sight and odor.

"Home already?" Will asked, shrugging the thin jacket off his shoulders without stealing another glance at his pathetic father.

_Drunk already?_

Hatred burned his veins as the older man slid his bony legs onto the wooden floorboards, struggling into a seated position. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" His voice slurred with intoxication, the grey plums of his hair sticking up messily.

"Nothing," Will replied absently, keeping his shoulders stiff as he hung his coat and retreated to the kitchen. The fridge was nearly empty, and Will wrote a mental reminder to pick up some groceries tomorrow. He hated that his father managed to score weekends when his parents split. Personally, he would've preferred nothing at all. Still, it was better than having to deal with Lonnie during weekdays, when work tied him down and made his muscles ache for some of the wet stuff.

"You little smartass," Lonnie chided.

Will was glaring at the family photos stuck to the fridge, put there by himself and ignored everyday by the drunken adult that lumbered about the space. His honey eyes hovered on Jonathan's graduation photo, his cheeky smile eclipsed by the cap stuck atop his wiry brown hair. He wished his older brother were here, someone who could share the weight of living with Lonnie Byers.

"Hey!" Lonnie exclaimed, making the frail Byers teen nearly jump out of his skin. He was in the doorframe now, his eyes frazzled and bordered with wrinkles. Despite the creases drawn into his aging skin, his voice remained as sharp and intact as the shadowy afternoons that shattered his childhood. Nights with a belt buckle, a few boyish screams, and sobs muffled by curled up blankets. "Did you hear me, boy?"

"Wha—I mean, sir?" His heart was already thumping against his ribcage, the sound reverberating back to his ears.

"You gotta pick up some shit before you go back to your mom's," he spat, as if even the meager mention of Joyce was like poison slick against his tongue. His boots thudded against the kitchen tile like tiny thunderclaps, and Will was gripping his bottle of juice harder and harder. "I'm not asking."

"I know," Will kept his back to his father, licking his dry lips quietly. The bottle in his hand began to sting from how cold it was and how tensely he was holding it. "I'll make a stop at Bradley's tomorrow after work."

"You're so irresponsible," he scolded, the anger laced with a tang of beer. He was speaking drunkenly, which is where his anger always derived from. That and the pure hatred of his son.

His freak of a son.

"I'm gonna go start on homework," Will tried to excuse himself, ducking his head like a feeble animal attempting to pry itself away from a predator. His sneakers scudded against the ground as he dipped past his father, who stood like an iron pillar with red eyes glued to his son.

Will let out a sharp but quick yelp as two steely hands gripped his forearms, pressing him roughly against the counter. The sharp counter of wood and marble dug into his lower waist like an arrow, and he had to bite his tongue to hold in a cry of pain. His teeth sunk in enough to draw blood, the taste of copper dancing on his taste buds and red blotting his vision.

"You worthless queer," Lonnie growled, the hands circling Will’s biceps tightening until the pressure of being squeezed made him dizzy. "Don't act all high and mighty with me, you hear?"

Will had no idea where he had gotten that from, but he nodded and gulped like a mindless child, feeling small under the stare of his father. He was clenching his teeth so fiercely he thought he might break his jaw.

The hands finally released, tossing Will back like burlap, useless and empty. "Get out of my sight," he snarled viciously, more animal-like than any sort of father-human.

Will scrambled away, leaving the bottle of juice behind and sprinting out the door again. Tears stung the corners of his eyes hotly as he strung his jacket back on, his car keys still jingling in the right pocket. God, why was he crying? He should be more than used to this by now, and yet every time such acidic words came from Lonnie, it always felt like the end of the world.

Dustin left his cigarettes in Will's car, he realized, when he shuffled himself back into the driver's seat and glared over at the passenger's. He held the half-empty white carton thoughtfully, letting his car reheat as his thumb ran over the plastic logo over and over.

 _You don't think I'm handling some shit of my own right now?_ Will had been handling "some shit" for thirteen years now, starting back when he was still a small kid and his father still had some dry nights.

He tossed the cigarette box aside with a bitter scoff. What a prick. Dustin had probably left them on purpose, deciding Will would happily hand them over the next time he saw him, a certain raven-haired, loud-mouthed boy next to him. _Mike._

Where was Mike? Despite all the boy's imperfections, like the cigarettes he devoured and the sharply worded insults he always found a way to throw so cleverly, he wasn't the type to miss work. Dustin had mentioned that Mike needed the money—

( _Why?_ )

—bad, which it made it all the more mysterious as to why he skipped out today. Was he really sick? He didn't seem too green or pale-struck yesterday, just ill with silence as he avoided Will every single minute of the day. He hated thinking in such a selfish manner, but a part of him really wondered if Mike's absence had to do with him.

He started the car, the small Civic creeping out of the driveway and away from the house etched with haunted memories and ghosts of unforgettable fights. His lower back still stung, his eyes remaining damp with tears, but he continued to drive. He figured he could spend a few more hours away until his father slipped into a drunken sleep that made him unaware of the world. Will knew exactly where he was going, but he pretended that he was just wondering. That he was just watching the sunset make the autumn trees turn caramel brown and gold, with glints of red and orange splintered around him.

Noelle's was the only cafe open twenty-four hours, seven days a week, decorated with its vintage posters and comfortable sofas. Despite the homey atmosphere and the unbreakable promise of open doors, it was an unpopular spot in town.

But not to Mike Wheeler.

"Noelle's has inarguably got the best coffee in town," Mike had explained proudly to Will on their first drive together, the rain pelting down against the Byers's windshield relentlessly and letting the pattering noise be their ambience. "And their bagels? Exquisite."

Will had blown a raspberry in disbelief, shaking his head. "What's the big deal? Coffee is coffee."

"Um, I'm sorry. How do _you_ take your coffee, Byers?" Mike had been sarcastic as always, the grin pressing into lips without a taint of plastic. It had been real.

Will recalled the way shame had enflamed his system at the question, his eyes not moving from the road slick with rain. "I actually don't. I hate coffee."

"What? Are you serious?" Mike had hollered in shock, his hand gripping the side of his seat. "Don't tell me you're one of those doofs that only drink hot chocolate."

"Hey! What's wrong with hot chocolate?"

Mike had roared with laughter so loud it almost drowned out the rain, a sound that was strangely pleasant to hear in contrast to his usual taunts. Only now Mike wasn't laughing, and it wasn't raining, and he was sitting by himself in a window booth at Noelle's with a frown bigger than ever.

Even in the dim light growing into evening darkness, Will could see the boy from his car parked out front. Fuck, even just seeing him like that made an unfamiliar pang hammer his chest, and he hated it. Why was he hurting worse now? Worse than he had felt when his father drove him against the wall like an empty sack and hissed tainted words into skin like a tattoo?

_I just think that you two could really use other._

( _Stop._ )

Dustin was wrong. Will had been right, especially when he coldly reminded the Henderson that Mike had been an _asshole_. He wasn't the first person to bully Will, digging distasteful words into his heart like a drill.

But he had been the only person to apologize as well, scrambling to find a way to repair the damage.

_I've never seen him try so hard to get someone to like him._

_Let me cook for you._

( _Stop!_ )

( _Maybe I should talk to him._ )

( _Why? He treated you like garbage!_ )

_He sounds infuriating._

( _He is._ )

( _But he's trying!_ )

_He has a lot of...self-destructive behaviors, I guess._

( _What does that even mean?_ )

( _It means you should forgive him._ )

( _Why should I?_ )

( _Because you miss him, you dumbass!_ )

Will froze, the stars blinking back at him as he stared dumbly against the blue screen of the sky. Mike was still inside, both of his hands gripping his phone as he thumbs pattered rapidly against the screen. His eyes looked immersed into whatever he was doing. Was he texting someone? What was he talking about? Will hated how much he cared. It felt wrong to have so many questions of Mike rack his brain, but he couldn't stop them.

He missed him. Fuck, he actually did.

Noelle's was warm, for one thing. Warmer than the toasted cushion seats of his car. He wiped his stark white hands together, frozen in place. Mike's back was to him, a glaring navy fabric portrait. He could still turn around now, savor his stubborn pride and leap back into his car. Maybe El would let him stay over while his dad remained to be a shithead, and he could pretend Hopper was the only father figure his broken life.

But Mike was _right there_ , and pride was overrated.

"Hey," Will tried, standing awkwardly by the hunched over teen. He expected Mike to flinch, maybe throw a fresh face of astonishment his way, the gold in his eyes shining persistently.

But Mike's eyes looked sunken in, the skin around his face stretched too thin and the pigment of his expression sickly. He looked awful, and exhausted. Will almost let out a strained gasp of his own, but he didn't. He slid into the booth instead, worry gnawing at his belly as the freckles on Mike's face turned darker and his cheeks sank further.

"Hey."

"What the hell's up with you?"

"Gee, thanks. Nice seeing you too, Byers." Mike still had his sarcasm, for one thing.

"No, I mean, what's wrong? Are you sick?" Will demanded.

Mike chuckled drily, and Will knew he was gonna get it now. "Why are you asking? Thought you didn't wanna bother with me anymore."

"I'm serious, Mike. You look like shit," Will snapped, growing stern as he found himself glaring at the trembling fingers coiled around the Wheeler's phone. "You're shaking. Do you need something to eat?"

"No," Mike answered quickly, an octave too loud and a bit too sharp. His tone had been menacing almost, but Will saw something else coat his eyes for a split moment as he finally met the Byers's gaze. He just couldn't decide what. "I'm fine. You should go."

"Are you kidding? Just let me buy you a bagel or something, Mike."

"I said I'm fine."

”Just shut up!" Will nearly yelled, and the scarce heads littering the store turned their way, making both boys shrink a few sizes meekly. He waited for the attention to die away like a flame, and then he was glowering at the Wheeler again. "I know I've been pretty pissed at you lately."

"Look, Will—"

"I get it, okay?" Will stopped him again, both hands fanned out on the table desperately. "Dustin talked to me. He told me you've got a lot of shit going on, and while he didn't say _what_ ," he tacked on quickly, noting the concern lighting up the other boy's face. "He told me you've been dealing with some stuff."

Mike scowled again, leaning back against his seat limply and letting his exasperated gaze fall on something else. Something far away from the both of them, maybe providing him comfort and letting him believe none of this was happening. "Great."

"Look...when the world turns to shit, it can be pretty hard to not turn with it. And while you may have been a total dick before, I know you really were trying to help those last two days."

Mike was looking at him again, the frame of his face still bony and colored disproportionally. He was listening, though, his lips parted slightly as a small puff of air blew out.

"I'm willing to give you another chance. So long as it stays between us. I don't want to be humiliated like that again, regardless of your intentions."

Silence drifted between them, and Will finally noticed the gentle indie tunes filling the quaint coffee shop. Mike was tapping the pads of his fingertips questionably against the surface of the table, warily looking over at Will with a mingle of shock and wonder.

"So...you forgive me? Like, completely forgive me?"

"Yeah. And hopefully you forgive me for not hearing you out first."

The curve in Mike's lips returned, but his smile drew feebly onto his face as exhaustion still wore on his body. "There's nothing to forgive you for."

Will felt his breath hitch as he finally exhaled, his chest deflating like a balloon as he reclined in his seat. "Well then, if that's done, I'm gonna order some hot chocolate."

Mike giggled quietly, but he murmured nothing about Will's order. Instead, he whispered weakly, "Can I take you up on that bagel?"

He was still smiling, and Will figured he should return it. They were gonna be okay. Really. "Sure," he mumbled, raising his hand to flag down a waitress and give them his order.

"How'd you know I was gonna be here?" Mike inquired.

"I didn't," Will answered simply, shrugging his shoulders. "I just wanted hot chocolate."

"At Noelle's?"

"Well, since you were _so_ passionate about it the other day, I figured I'd try it," Will chuckled lightly, Mike matching the bemusement tickling his face.

This was the first time, in the five weeks they'd learn of each other's existence, that they were talking comfortably. No bitter insults, no screaming, no awkwardness or wretched curiosity. Just Mike and Will, in a booth at Noelle's, cracking jokes and trying to keep the light going. It was weird, but Will knew he liked it better than anything before.

Mike picked at his bagel weakly, his fingers plucking small pieces into his mouth followed by tiny sips of his lukewarm coffee. Will cradled the plastic container of his hot chocolate tightly, letting the heat blister his palms as he watched the Wheeler.

"Is that the first thing you've eaten all day?" Will asked, and he knew by the way Mike danced in his seat that he was approaching thin ice. Although Dustin hadn't mentioned any specifics, Will couldn't deny he had been forming his own theories of what Mike was struggling with. His constant fidgeting and inability to focus on anything for too long was one thing, but the sudden grayness that had consumed him was another.

People with depression were known to skip a few meals when they found themselves drowning in their own skin. Was that what Mike felt?

"Yeah." Mike replied briefly, hesitating before taking a big bite out of the bagel, chewing it softly as his eyes trailed outside to watch the last few rays of daylight drip away.

Will decided not to ask more. If Mike was going to console in him, he needed to let it happen at Mike's pace. Instead, he sketched his own smile as he brought his cup to his lips.

"So, what will it be then, Chef? More slimy egg tacos?"

"Oh, just you wait. By the time we're done, you'll wish those tacos were the worst thing you've tried."

Will laughed, and Mike joined in too. Lonnie was out of the picture for now, and whatever had been bogging the Wheeler boy down was gone too. But something cold and heavy hung in the back of Will's mind like a stubborn hook caught in his system.

_Please, just don't let this go away._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike and Will grow closer as October flies by and Halloween approaches. However, when Will invites his newly found friends to El and Max’s Halloween party, things go wrong. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halloween came early! Sorry for taking forever to update. I really hope you all enjoy and thanks again for all the support! :)

The month of October eclipsed by like a gliding autumn leaf, golden and light, flipping and tumbling through the air playfully, but sweetly. And Will had been eating a lot of new things. He went to Mike's a lot, sometimes after work, but his favorite days were the weekends, when his parents were always away with his little sister.

Holly Wheeler was exactly what you expected from a nine year old. Bright and bubbly, with a mouth too big and too quick to stop the jumbling mess always flowing out of her. But like Mike, there were moments where a pale shadow would fall over her face, her lips silenced into a thin, bloodless line. Karen Wheeler was a kind woman, sharing the same light brown eyes Will saw in his mom. He had only met her a handful of times, always in passing as she scrambled towards the door with her car keys dancing in her palm. She seemed to carry the same chilled quiet that possessed Mike and Holly, her eyes even clouding over the same when she stumbled into her thoughts.

_Must run in the family._

He still had yet to meet Ted Wheeler, but Mike had explained he was the kind of father always caught in the grips of his work. Will envied that, sort of. He'd rather have a father figure always working and too tired to be a dad instead of one only tired when he didn't have a beer and something to scream about.

He got to return the almost empty cigarette box to Dustin, and that time he got to meet Lucas. The Sinclair teen immediately came off as the sensible, calmer moon to tbe always moving and shifting suns that were Dustin and Mike. Will knew he was going to get along great with him.

Nevertheless, most days it was just him and Mike. And this Mike, the one who always surprised him with a strange steaming dish and a powdery smile, Will liked a lot.

The Wheeler had led him on a trail of all sorts of new flavors that bounced in his mouth or settled like distasteful chalk on his tongue. He liked tacos and fajitas, which came as a surprise because Mexican food had been the bane of his existence for as long as he could remember. Spaghetti was okay but the texture of the long noodles soaked in a meat paste made him squirm a little.

Vegetables were majorly taboo. Peas made him want to hurl his breakfast and celery tasted of nothing, and with a dabble of peanut butter it just made him uncomfortable.

Mike had even helped him discover little things, too. Like mustard on a burger actually wasn't so bad and cheese made a salad taste better. (Nobody said anything about eating strictly healthy, right?)

The last week of October had been a cold one, and Will still felt the ghost of outside's chills as he hunched over on Mike's counter. He was glancing at the freckled boy with a smile twisted inquisitively. "Fish sticks?"

Mike grinned at him from over his shoulder, slightly bent as he slid a tattered tray of them into the oven. "And what are you griping about, geezer? This just means you'll probably like it."

"Can't remember the last time I even had fish sticks. Probably on a disgusting plastic tray in elementary school," Will said with a grimace, which Mike responded to with a ragged chuckle.

"Well, you're in luck, Byers. It's senior year and now you're eating fish sticks with your asshole co-worker from Panera."

Mike had his bluetooth speaker propped on the end of the counter, away from his fingers greased up by cooking mix. Will had come to learn that music was an obsession of the taller boy's, always raving on about an obsolete, underground artist that he had never heard of.

Will found it interesting Mike listened to primarily rock. Sure, there were a few scrapings of pop, R&B, alternative, and even indie. (He had absolutely harped on the Wheeler about that one, pointing out it was rather hypocritical of him to bash Will's music but also enjoy similar sounds.) In fact, Mike listened to almost anything, finding an appreciation for it. But rock was his specialty.

Will had learned from Jonathan that when people listened to rock, it was usually because they had too much to say and no one to tell it to. He could almost feel the pained emotions begging to come out by the way the vocals screamed against the guitar riffs.

"You're not an asshole," Will finally murmured, kicking himself off the counter and lumbering towards his backpack. "Not anymore, anyway." At first, when the boys had to wait for the meal to finish cooking, they busied themselves with talk. It's how Will had actually come to learn a great deal about Mike, and vice versa. His favorite musicians, what video games he liked to busy himself with in his sometimes cold and drafty basement, when he started writing and what his plans were to do with such a natural skill.

Will had opened up a lot too. He told Mike of his dreams to be a comic book artist, to maybe even dabble in animation if he could ever get a grip on how to use the programs. He told him the time he fell off his bike when he was eight and broke his arm. Or how El and Max saved him from social ineptness, taking him in.

He almost told Mike the deeper things too, like the first time he realized he liked kissing boys rather than girls, and how the image of his father pinning his weak, helpless mother against the wall always burned against the back of his eyelids. Almost.

Now that some of that talk, the stories and the minute details of their aspirations and interests had faded, Will and Mike were comfortable enough to bask in a silence that wasn't coated with awkwardness or mutual disdain. They were high school boys graduating this year, and there was _always_ an assignment that needed finishing.

He guessed this meant they were friends now. Something about that realization made a pleasant warmth curl in his stomach.

Will was in the middle of finishing a chapter of government notes when the oven chimed, and Mike was clambering out his chair and flicking his pen aside carelessly. "Thank God," Mike huffed dramatically. "If I had to do another calc problem, I would've died."

"At least you're good at math," Will remarked with a twinge of jealousy, remembering the frown on Joyce's face when she had seen his bleeding scarlet-colored D on his report card.

"Damn, Byers. First eating, now math? Am I gonna have to tutor you on how to read too?" Mike prodded, and Will just chuckled and shook his head dismissively. The taller teen was still as teasing as ever, but Will had come to learn how to laugh about it rather than let every joke dig into his skin like nails.

"All yours, geezer," Mike shuffled a plate piled with golden-brown sticks towards Will. He didn't hesitate with this one, pricking a fish stick from the batter and munching half of it off confidently.

Will tasted green before he saw green, poking out from the thin layer of fried crust and swimming in a sea of red and yellow too. "Ugh," he groaned, swallowing the slimy, half-chewed piece before his instincts could make him spew it out in disgust. His eyes gawked over what wasn't fish meat and what clearly seem to be vegetables. "What the hell is this, Mike?"

"Veggie sticks," Mike answered with a slight cringe, his eyes beginning to grow with regret.

"You..." Will turned to him accusingly, the words hitching in his throat like a broken sob as the apology was already written in the Wheeler's gaze. "You tricked me?"

"Please don't be mad," Mike responded in a tinny voice.

Will bit on the inside of his cheeks carefully, gnawing on the already marred pink flesh as he deciphered the concern in Mike's freckled features. He wanted to be mad. He wanted so badly to spit more cruel words laced with a hint of betrayal at the taller boy. But he wanted something more, something better, something he hated even admitting to himself during times where walking away permanently seemed so much easier.

He wanted to be Mike's friend.

Besides, this wasn't the first time someone had tricked him into ingesting something he didn't want to. He remembered the way he had cried at Joyce when he was younger, glaring at the half-drunken smoothie mixed with his vitamins. She had gently coaxed him, reminding him that it was all done out of—

( _spitefulness?_ )

—love.

The memory shook him to his core.

"Well, I don't know what you were expecting." The lazy October sunlight blazed on Will's back and hit him like an arc of sizzled gold as he smiled. "They're disgusting."

Mike let out a quiet but noticeable sigh, returning the smile. "Yeah, I should've known," he laughed under his breath, plucking the plate off the counter and moving to the trash bin. "I don't blame you, by the way. Most vegetables taste like shit."

"Yeah, except green beans. I can handle green beans."

"Yeah," Mike uttered with soft agreement, his back still to the shorter boy as he watched the brown veggie sticks fall into the trash in a clump of grease. "Back when I—"

His words cut off cleanly, like the knife on the table had leapt into the air and pointed the tip of its blade at him squarely. Will looked up from his fiddling hands in confusion, eyeing the way Mike's shoulders had temporarily bunched up with unexplainable tension. "When I was a kid," Mike continued, letting his muscles grow slack again. "My mom used to put agave on my green beans so I'd eat them."

"Agave?"

"It's a type of syrup," Mike elaborated, whirling around with a fresh powder of paleness dancing on his freckles as he retreated to the sink to wash the tray. "It's really good too."

"Syrup on beans?" Will echoed, his nose crunching up into several wrinkled folds of disgust.

Mike gawked at him over his shoulders, the corners of his lips making several creases. "Hey, don't knock it till you try it."

"Yeah, yeah," Will laughed quietly, coiling around the other side of the counter and returning to his backpack. "That's been kinda the whole motto of this anyway, right?"

"Exactly!"

"Well, as lovely as this has been, and as putrid as those veggie sticks were," Will added cleverly, earning himself another flickering Mike Wheeler smile. "I should probably go. My mom hates it when I'm out too late."

"Yeah, I get that. I'll walk you out."

It still felt a little peculiar, having Mike trail after him to the door with a parting look on his face. Mike must've felt this too, because he got caught in the doorway, a different kind of frown running across his expression like syrup.

Will turned back to him, gripping the strap of his bag with his nails lightly to balance it on his shoulder. "What's up?"

Mike couldn't look at him, and Will had begun to notice the boy reddened a lot in the corners of his face where his jaw met his cheekbones. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Will sighed through his nostrils, his lips discolored and in a straight line. _Not this again_. Mike wasn't one for insecurities, or at least showing them anyway, but he never failed to become so meek and small when he'd ask that question.

"I was such an asshole."

"You were," Will confirmed, nodding his chin a little but keeping his eyes on those red patches that ran stark against the ghostly hue of everywhere else on the Wheeler's face. "But you apologized and we're cool. No need to worry about it anymore, okay?"

Will was always the one needing reassurance. Sometimes it seriously pressed El and Max how much the reserved artist begged for such affirmations. His mind liked to create twisted, false realities that danced wildly inside him, and he found himself constantly craving words that could squash that. But now he was on the other side, eyeing the blushing boy closely and hoping he could feel the same warmth in his chest that Will did.

"We're friends."

Mike grinned at that, and the cherry in his face went away. "Right."

Will had made it down the porch step and started towards his car before he remembered something, whirling around again. "Oh, and Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time you want me to eat something with vegetables, just tell me. I'll probably hate it, but you can tell me. Always."

There was a double meaning to that, but Will had no idea if Mike had sensed it or not as the boy just nodded with another vague laugh.

"'Kay!"

~

" _The Shining_? Are you kidding?" Max's voice harped rather loudly against the much more tame conversations that filtered the Panera dining area. Both of her arms were wound tight at her sides, her eyes dancing flames into Will's own sockets. "That's like...one of the worst horror movies."

Will was eating the mac and cheese for lunch, only now it was spattered with bacon bits. Exchanging normal mac and cheese for the bacon wasn't an enormous change, but it was change nonetheless. Neither of the girls had said anything, but they knew it had something to do with the devious raven-haired loudmouth Will had been spending some time with.

The same loudmouth who was careening away from the dirty dishes piling on top of the trash cans and slipping into the empty spot next to Will like a flash of darkness he couldn't stop. "Not a fan of Kubrick, huh?"

"His entire vision for the movie went completely against the book!" Max spewed at him with a spice of passion. "Stephen King's version was all about the slow—"

"The slow decent into madness, yeah I know." A heavy weight toppled on Will shoulders, and he realized with a delayed, strangled gasp that Mike had strung his arm coolly around him. His grin was as effortless as ever as he met Max's persistent glare with a casual softness in his eyes. "Casting Jack Nicholson was definitely a poor choice. That man couldn't play a sane person if he tried. Also, most of the cool shit in the book didn't make it to the movie. Instead we got some creepy ass twins and three minutes of fake blood flooding the lobby."

"Okay, so you know your stuff," Max concluded icily, the tension in her biceps as stubborn as ever. The redhead still had not quite grown accustomed to the Wheeler, her distrust for him easily known. Unsurprisingly, this didn't discourage Mike. "What do you recommend for a Halloween movie night, then?"

The arm went away from Will's upper torso, and he felt like he could breathe again as his chest caved. "Well, if you wanna go with classics, the _Scream_ movies are inarguably some of the best. They changed the horror genre without even trying. But if you wanna see something new, _In a Glass Cage_ and _We Are the Flesh_ are good."

Will's hazel eyes were digging holes of surprise into the crest of Mike's cheek. He knew Mike liked watching films, but he didn't realize how much passion there was until he saw the way the taller boy's gaze gleamed like a beacon at the redhead.

"I've never heard of either of those," Max admitted stagnantly, folding her arms over her chest with a hint of shame. She had been outshined for once.

"Not enough people talk about them. _In a Glass Cage_ is an oldie, an 80s one, but _We Are The Flesh_ is newer. My friend who works at the video store showed them to me. I can get them from her if you want," Mike offered, never failing to move skittishly in his seat like a bunched up clot of cloth.

_Her?_ Will had barely noticed himself beginning to question this said friend before El had spoken up, finishing the last bite of her bread and wiping the crumbs away from her mouth with a napkin. "Are they scary?"

Mike's eyes slid over to the brunette, and his smile shifted from one of cold confidence to something genuine. "I've watched a lot of horror. So much I've kinda become...desensitized to the genre. But those two," he was out of his chair again, swiping the dirty stack of plates he had dropped onto the table, "those two scared me shitless."

Will could hear the music playing overhead again for a moment, noticing how Steve always played weird jazz music that made him feel like he was seated in a dimly lit Italian restaurant with pasta dishes that were drizzled onto huge plates. It wasn't that bad though, and maybe he was beginning to understand why Mike was into so many different styles.

"I don't care what you say, Will," Max huffed, her spoon twirling with frustration into her soup. "I still think he's kind of a jerk. A cocky one, at that."

He grimaced, letting himself pluck another scoop of warm mac and cheese into his mouth. "Yeah, he takes some warming up to."

"Well, I'm still as cold as an iceberg."

"He's not _that_ bad," El, always more pensive and reasonable, shot a quick but assuring smile at her girlfriend. Her hand reached up and affectionately stroked the skin right above the redhead's elbow, where the skin poked out from the fabric of her striped top.

Max answered with a warm smile of her own, and Will hated the bitter twinge of jealousy that strummed his heart. It was the one downside of having his two best friends be in love. Sometimes he felt like he was watching them through a screen, a lucky outsider who got to witness a journey he didn't really belong to.

"Well, are you gonna take up his offer?" Will chirped, letting the stinging in his stomach wash away gradually like dissipating waves.

"Huh?" Max peeled her eyes away from El in blatant befuddlement.

"The movies. Mike." He explained shortly, and he was nearing the bottom of his bowl now. Will almost never finished his lunch when he ate Panera, it was odd.

"Hm. Maybe," Max shook her head with a small _tsk_ popping from her clenched teeth. "He sounds like he knows what he's talking about. At least you picked a smart one, Will."

"Huh?" He shied away from her statement, his neck faltering back slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?" There was a genuine knot of confusion contorting his face, but below that his belly churned with apprehension.

"She just means that we're glad you're finally making some other friends. Some guy friends." El answered for her girlfriend, who was preoccupied with a huge mouthful of hot soup.

"Ugh, guys," Will rolled his eyes, slapping his hand over the them so he wouldn't have to see the small smirk etching lines into El's lips.

"Relax, Will," Max coughed, swallowing her food prematurely and barking hoarsely into her folded napkin cloth. "We just meant it's nice to see you hanging out with someone that isn't two raging lesbians."

He was smiling again, his spoon dancing around the edges of his final bite. Although he had only hung out with Dustin and Lucas once, at the arcade after one of Dustin's shifts, it _had_ been pretty fun. He could see why Mike had picked them for friends, the way they all poked at one another in the usual boyish manner with witty jokes.

Will wasn't really one to put his foot in his mouth, so he was really unsure as to why today had become that day. "Maybe we could invite them to Halloween?"

Max, as always, spoke first. "Huh?"

His heart shriveled. He felt stupid and corny, his friends narrowing their eyes at him questionably. "Mike and his friends."

"Who are his friends?" El asked.

"Some guys named Dustin and Lucas."

Max answered with strangely huge eyes, the blue shining stark against her warm soup bowl. "As in the theatre president and basketball captain? How did a guy like that wound up with such popular friends?"

Will had to stop himself from jerking forward in his seat, gripping the table edge instead. “They're _popular_?" He should've known honestly, given the way both boys seemed to easily immerse themselves in any socialization. And Dustin definitely chalked up to be a typical theatre kid, now that he thought about it.

Max and El both giggled, making his face shy away as he pressed his back coolly against the booth again. "God, you really don't pay attention to anything outside of art club, do you?"

"Can you blame me?" Will murmured almost spitefully, his spoon becoming a toy twirling between his fingers as he abandoned the last scraps of his lunch. "You both know I'm not one for school spirit."

"I'll say," El was practically laughing into Max's shoulder.

Max's cheek lapped warmly against the brunette's before she turned back to Will. "You don't think such top dogs like them would already have plans?"

"What, like a kegger?" It was Will's turn to scoff. He didn't know Lucas and Dustin that well, but he knew enough. "They're not the type. They stick to their inner circle, that's why I didn't think they were popular."

"I guess," the Mayfield shrugged, El's perfectly still head moving with her shoulder. "But hey, if they're not busy, I guess they can come. No one else though. okay? And Mike better not talk during the movie cause he definitely seems like the type."

Will almost hated how huge his grin was as his shook his head, baffled by the surge of warmth inside him that seemed persistent these days. "Promise."

~

Will was grateful for the packed heat of the Hopper home, gripping the cuffs of his sweater tightly as he gazed out the window. Through the faint curtains he could see the full moon glaring at him, reminding him of how bitter and cold the night was. A body shifted next to him, and the television grew louder as he remembered where he was.

Mike sat next to him in tightly wound silence, Lucas and Dustin on the raven-haired boy's right flank. El and Max sat in a heap of cuddling limbs on the arm chair, their eyes flickering between the movie and each other. The party had already been going on for an hour, and it was safe to say the girls approved of Lucas and Dustin.

But there was something up with Mike.

His body was eerily still, the loss of his usual finger picking or leg bouncing making Will question everything. He didn't look physically ill, but the extra ring of purple under his eyes suggested something was awry. Something Will desperately wanted to scrape out of him.

"Hey," Will tried, ignoring the way the muscles in his chest clenched. "You okay?"

"Huh?" Mike's eyes peeled away from the screen, and he was close enough for Will to notice a string of bloodshot red running against the white of his left eye. It was a detail Will wished he didn't notice so easily. "Uh, yeah. Why?"

Now that he had asked, he felt stupid. Will shook it off, pricking his eyes onto his half eaten box of Milk Duds. "Nothing. Do you, um...do you want some?" He offered the chocolate casually, hoping that it would ease the weird tension suddenly caught between the two of them.

"No thanks."

Mike had been oddly uneasy the entire night. He hadn't jumped so easily into banter with Lucas and Dustin, and he didn't bother to correct Max on any of her film opinions. Even if the slight bounce of his shoulders suggested he strongly disagreed.

It wasn't just Will that had noticed either. Lucas and Dustin were throwing glimpses at the statue-like boy, their gazes almost glazed over with something when their eyes found Will's. He wasn't typically this nosy, but Mike had become a certain exception to a lot of his rules.

"Well, do you at least want some popcorn?" He pressed. The image of a white clad face stark against the walls of Noelle's came rushing back. "You haven't eaten a lot since you got here."

"Will," a new voice cut in. Something strange and sharp. Lucas was eyeing him carefully, but even the Byers couldn't understand what made the boy's eyes grow so dark.

And Mike was suddenly scrambling off the sofa, his baggy sweatpants falling as he rose and wiping away any wrinkles left from sitting. "I think I'm gonna go. My mom didn't want me to be out so late."

Even El and Max were watching him now, the horror movie completely forgotten. "Are you sure? It's only a little after nine."

"Yeah, well, it's just...my mom," the chuckle that dripped off his lips felt dry and forced. "She's super strict."

No one knew what to say, and the silence that followed was almost unbearable. Mike shuffled against the carpet before letting out a quick, feign laugh as his fingers finally found the bottom of his hoodie and began making nervous folds. "Thanks for the party. Let me know what you think about the movie at some point, Max." His body was a flurry of dark blue escaping into the outside blizzard of fresh October cold.

Will watched him go with a stupid gape written on his face, shutting his lips before anyone could notice. He turned to see Lucas and Dustin glaring at one another, locked in a silent, mental battle. Dustin must've lost, because he drew away with a rattled sigh and he launched himself off the sofa. "I should probably go as well. I don't want my mom to be alone this late at night."

It was a lie. The same way Will sensed Mike's mom excuse was a lie too.

Lucas stayed for the movie, but Will couldn't focus on anything anymore. Mike had been unexplainably weird, again, and he was without answers. Again. It took him the rest of the movie and the fifteen minutes when Lucas prepared himself to leave to finally ask the Sinclair boy. El and Max were still inside, and Will shoved his fists into his pockets to batter the wind.

"Hey, Lucas?"

Lucas wore a calm plaster on his expression, stopping halfway between the door and his car to look back at Will. "Yeah, man?"

Every inch of his body burned, despite the iciness in the air and the harsh breeze continuing to brush through his messy head of hair. "Is..." Will struggled, his mouth growing dry and fighting against his mind. "Is Mike...is he okay?"

The basketball captain let out a sigh through his nostrils, placing both hands in the pockets of his letterman. "Yeah. He's fine. Why do you ask?"

_Why are you lying to me?_

"Just wondering. He was a little...quiet today?" Now Will felt really stupid.

"Nah, Mike's always been like that. Quiet some days, other days he'll talk your head off. It's just how he works." Lucas's casual manner made it almost believable.

"So there's nothing wrong?" The next sentence he uttered even surprised himself. "I didn't do anything?"

Now Lucas was smiling assuringly at him, illuminated by moonlight and making the tingling in Will's chest fade a little. "No, Will. It's not you. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Okay."

Will had to go back inside, return to his friends and throw himself back into the Halloween night of movies and sugary foods. But he couldn't lie to himself. The spooky spirit of the night had faded, and all that was left was an aching in his heart.

And a yearning to know what was wrong with his friend.


End file.
